


Learning

by Hyacinthium



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Crushes, Disordered Eating, M/M, Past Violence, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), References to Drugs, Suicidal Thoughts, Worldbuilding, past bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthium/pseuds/Hyacinthium
Summary: Ouma Kokichi wants to be a better person. He really does.He just doesn't quite think that he's managing or that he deserves to be. But he knows that. It's why he auditioned for Dangan Ronpa after all.Changing is easier when you can just have your  self scrapped, entirely, and replaced with someone worthwhile.





	Learning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rev_eeriee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev_eeriee/gifts).



> HAPPY APRIL FOOLS DAY
> 
> GET READY FOR SOME ANGST
> 
> Pregame former-bully Ouma Kokichi suffering hours. I've never written this kind of character before, but tbh Kokichi can definitely be written as a bully. So why not write pg Kokichi hating himself for it? And play with the persistent idea of pg Kaito as a bully too. 
> 
> Surprise! They were both awful! No innocent victim Kokichi for you! 
> 
> Also an exploration of a NPC Kokichi in an rp I'm in. He's co-made by my friend. 
> 
> But like. There's a lot of suicidal type thoughts near the end. It comes with a Dangan Ronpa wrapping, but the stone cold facts is that a bunch of teens signed up to die and this fic uses that. Be careful, kay?

Sunlight breaks through clouds once heavy with rain.

There's a bird outside. It hops- delicate feet taping at brick. Blue, graceful, the avian scoops up a bug with one smooth movement. Eyes itchy from hours of computer use watch as it consumes an unfortunate worm. 

Ouma Kokichi hates himself, still. He can't avoid thinking about it even now. Sipping on the cheapest, plainest, coffee offered by the Starbucks Coffee revival ripoff he frequents; the guy stares at his laptop screen and tries to ignore the memories. But that's impossible- when he had to talk Saihara into letting him pay. Not that it's Saihara's fault that he's a good person. Or that Ouma has slipped into subversive tactics recently. 

It's been years since high school and years more since Ouma decided to change. Yet here he is, still manipulative even if he cuts away each inch of the bully he used to be. Just a few coffees for less than they should be, or free ones, but God. 

Purple eyes glance back to bore holes into blurry font. The black on white pays him no heed. He's hungry. Ouma also doesn't want to waste money on actually eating out.

Damn it though, the man thinks, he has to eat eventually. Ouma picks up his coffee and takes a swig of it. Coffee is supposed to curb one's appetite. That's the only reason he's even in here, far past lunch with a only small breakfast to speak of, drinking one. The taste is faintly burnt but altogether passable. Light catches Ouma’s eyes and soon does a pair of gentle gold.

Saihara smiles nervously at him from near the espresso machine, dustings of pink spreading across his pale skin.

A grand total of five seconds passes before both of them break gazes. Biting his lip, Ouma tries to force down the heat in his face. It's not fair that Saihara is like this. Polite and gentle, always so attentive, and even his voice is quietly warm to the point of- 

Covering his sore eyes with both hands is stupidly vulnerable. He does it anyway, thinking about how Saihara's worried gaze must be stuck on him. The man remembers exactly how overly helpful the barista is. Saihara has bought him food and drinks before, and even shares home-cooked lunches. People have to have limits to their kindness.

Especially not when Saihara gets so happy over talking about it all. Maybe happy isn't the right word for it though. Saihara just gets so bright eyed that Ouma wants to blurt out everything too. About his character, about why, the man wants to tell his fellow 'student' as much as possible. It was weird at first, but now Ouma is glad that Saihara recognized him from the auditions. There's something freeing in the ability to talk about being in Dangan Ronpa. Not yet, but soon enough that they're providing feedback on their characters. 

What a strange thing it is to meet again after more than three years of waiting.

If only Ouma could say that of everyone. Well, not that Momota is a bad person to have as a friend. The problem is that Momota might not even be a friend in the end. Ouma sighs into his hands and allows them to fall back towards his laptop. He rereads the in progress essay and grabs at his coffee. Another sip of the liquid, cooling caffeine and gross bean water, and then he's typing away again. Life has no right to be this complicated. 

Ouma just wants to become a good person. That's all it is, to be able to remember a life where he's never talked and intimidated away the hard earned cash of people worse off than him. No wasteful arcade spending while he idly wishes for a car to run him over, and no pinched smiles after rushing through a shower while replaying hushed whispers about medical bills.

It seems like he's going to be getting that too. The weird bone design really has to go though. Honestly, who is working in his design?

Hours pass before Ouma starts to feel a bit light-headed. Pale fingers still and their owner steadily watches them for shaking. There isn't any, not yet, but the man still isn't done with his essay. Just a little bit more and it should be over with. Which means eating a second meal. 

Going up to the cashier and ordering the cheapest thing should be simple. It is simple, except that a smiling Saihara is the person that ends up... Giving Ouma his food. Of which an unasked for coffee is included. 

Am I manipulative still, Ouma asks himself, is it so bad that I can't even realize what I'm doing anymore?

"I think," he murmurs, swallowing the lump in his throat and recalling besotted girls seeing only a cute facade, "That it's getting a bit too dark out for me. Saihara-san should be getting home soon too, right?"

Thick eyelashes and plump lips. Ouma stares at them without wanting to, resisting the urge to reach out and remove that hat. He wants to rip it away, but seeing just a little bit of Saihara's eyes is enough. It's not like the other man would ever like him back. And he should either. Ouma isn't the kind of person that deserves such feelings. No, he's the kind of person that had genuine- if empty- fun turning people into the class scapegoat.

Nothing about Ouma is worth how warm Saihara's fingers are as they glance his own.

"My shift should be over soon... Ah, but you should definitely head back if you want. I can get you boxes and a bag?" Saihara offers. Those plump and alluring lips form a soft smile. His body is already poised to reach down and get one. 

It's easy to put everything away. Ouma has only gotten himself a simple sandwich after all. He ends up touching those soft hands a few times. Absolutely excruciating, especially when Saihara keeps smiling and talking. Niceties and compliments that make Ouma shudder, if only slightly.

Four or so years ago and Saihara would be flinching at the sight of him.

‘H-huh? I have no idea what you're talking about! Besides, I spent all I had on hand today.’

Ouma packs up his things like the devil is on his heels and leaves the shitty coffee shop just as quickly. It's the twenty second century and kids still a act out their frustrations via social torture. How sad, how absolutely awful, but no one ever made him face the consequences of his actions. Not until some shitty delinquent with a similar money complex decided to punch Ouma in the face at age sixteen. What a pair they were.

Still are, even if Momota barely texts or uses twitter. Because all the best friendships are born from self-loathing, fear of being or becoming poor, and being bullies that hate one another.

People mill about without faces nor color, background noise. Just the same as Ouma is to them. It feels better to be sullenly quiet than the falsely sweet and demure boy he used to be. None of these salarymen, these subculture teens with their white dyed hair, these women laughing happily; none of them know that Ouma used to be the kind of person who told others how better it would be if they disappeared. They've never seen how cutely he can smile while recording blackmail. 

‘Well here's the deal you sniveling coward- each time I hear about you fucking with people-”

The bus comes after five minutes of Ouma desperately trying to breathe steadily. He leaps into it, phone beeping as it pays his fare. Nothing in his brain is working right. Shaking has started in his hands while his stomach attacks itself. Eating is important you dumbass, you have money- just buy us both something to split, a familiar voice scolds. It's definitely easier to do when the food isn't just for Ouma. 

And yet. 

'I got into Dangan Ronpa and I've already said I have no need for actual friends. You can do math still, right? Who cares if they're only sticking around because they don't want to be next-'

But Ouma isn't the same him as back then. He wants to have friends who will miss him when he dies. When the better him wakes up in this body. Except that that's... Unfair. 

Momota and Saihara are both going to be in the game. 

Unfairness isn't there when all three of them are going to die, right? 

It takes ten minutes for the bus to take him home. Home being a small apartment that's nothing to write home about. At least it's something better than what Momota lives in. The whole time though, just like before, Ouma’s brain is stuck reliving age old things. Building up social currency and using it to extort people. Purposefully eating smaller portions even though he didn't really have to. Constantly getting free passes from teachers and adults, being such a cute and smart and innocent young man with a boyish charm. 

Who would ever believe those rumors about unassuming and hardworking Ouma Kokichi? 

Gagging, mentally, the man near kicks down his front door just to get inside.

Just what part of his brain ever thought that it was okay to plant snide little fears inside of people's minds? To slowly weave and create vectors for hurt, targeting anyone that didn't lay down and act like a good sheep. Ouma has watched a hangers-on deface a desk with suicide baiting and thought nothing of it. 

Shit, his neck itches. Ouma rips open the box hiding his sandwich and stares at it. It's just a simple turkey, bacon, lettuce and tomato slab of calories. With some kind of condiment in it. But his hands won't touch it. He feels like he deserves the angry ghost of teenage Momota's fists in his face instead of food.

'Dude... That's dark.'

'I call it being self-sufficient. What does it matter?'

'You're fucking crazy. Just stop stealing people's money, you piece of shit!' 

'At least all I do is steal their money and ruin their self-esteem, instead of stealing their futures. Momota is the only person around here that does that. Oh, and of course, how could I forget the drug dealing! God I'm just sooo awful for intimidating dumb bitches into giving me money.’

He spends the rest of the night remembering how utterly desolate Momota looked.

Can Ouma even say that they're friends? It seems like a stretch. They're more like people trying to mutually stop being scum together. Attempting to track down the exact change is impossible, but it might have been after that time. Momota just stopped. No more making good on that promise to pay back each slice of pain that Ouma gave others. Instead, things became some strange cliche. 

Whenever Ouma saw Momota about to get violent- he'd attack with scathing words. Whenever Momota saw Ouma start to use people- he'd slap his arm or… 

None of that matters. 

Either way, the man isn't stuck in a bog of apathy anymore. He can actually care about other people in a meaningful way. Ouma gets to look at crumbs and wish Dangan Ronpa would take him away already. Maybe Saihara's Detective will get to solve his murder. Hopefully, perhaps, all the people that Ouma has hurt will get some satisfaction out of watching an artificial personality pilot his corpse around. 

Or it will just be insult to injury.

The day where Ouma finds that school uniform delivery can't come soon enough. He really just can't wait for another year. All Team Dangan Ronpa has to do is give him the last chance to back out, so that he can reject it. Just how much longer is he going to be waiting? When he gets the uniform, how long will it take for the staged kidnapping? Is Saihara going to be one of the last people he sees? 

Will Momota? 

Balls of spikes and thorns grate away at the man's rib cage. He forgoes the essay, avoiding the laptop bag entirely. The phone beeps with an alert from that virtual pet app. Ouma ignores that too. 

‘People change all the time. Why the hell do you think we can't?’

‘Because we aren't changing, Momota. We're just lying and acting like we are.’

He gets up from the kitchen table and stumbles into his bedroom, grabs over the counter sleeping medication and dry swallows two- It's going to be a long ten minutes of staring at the ceiling. The coffee that Saihara gave me will get cold. God, why won't my brain stop...

Ouma Kokichi closes his eyes and pretends that he'll wake up soon.

‘Tell me that the next time you offer to tutor me and I grab your skinny ass some cheap rice balls because you won't let me pay you anymore. It'll sound even stupider, you dick.’

‘You... Deserve to go to college more than I do. That's all.’


End file.
